Thursday, July 24, 2014

Neil Childish

Down by the river, I smoked my doobie.

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

haiku May 21

I'm busied by the lilac's scent, the larks' bright yellow, the rain in the grass.

Monday, March 31, 2014

Galaxy Magazine

I just put up a link to an archive.org collection of Galaxy Magazine from the 1950s.

Monday, February 17, 2014

American haiku

Filthy snow outside, but the trees sough, and you smell their wood in the wind.

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Locomotive


I was so immense, and gray,

my gray forbidding,
solemn, almost grave
and my cowcatcher formidable:
teeth of iron, a cowcruncher

but that's not what I want to talk about
I want to talk about filth

the snow filthy with coal
and sagebrush rattlers
the redskins piled up like
sausages,
taut with smallpox
and          
             blood


but that's not what I want to talk about
I want to talk about strength

I blew apart at Tonopah
rivets gashed across
engineers and superman's
chest so who


but that's not what I want to talk about
I want to talk about death


and cars
my cowcatcher would smash a car
and what's inside

and danger

but that's not what I want to talk about

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Amy Sacksteder's painting "Alternate Esja" fixes my eye

"Alternate Esja" Fixes My Eye
 
Two paintings by the artist Mark Rothko, famous for his bold stripes and squares, may have been hung the wrong way round by curators at a major gallery. 

--Telegraph, UK

I remember that London upset:
feet rooted before those troubling strips,
I wanted to bend in their
careless flow, to grow, to branch out,
but gravity staked me upright.

"Alternate Esja" granted me a new perspective:
all paintings are abstractions and not
subject to mere gravity. From far away
even the solid earth becomes gaudy stripes,
snow white, and frigid blue.

It's as though I'm floating in space, 
and dizzy with possibilities:
From Reno to Reykjavik,
I consult my inner ear, my inner eye, the landscape
before me, above me or below me.

The artist hurls me round the world,
to get it all sorted out, 
to make sense of the roiling
cumuli, the calving glaciers,  
the little scraps of iron we call cities.

Which way is up and which is down,
in real or alternate Esja?
Houston, can you hear me?
Listen, Houston: there is no up or down.
Houston, there is no problem.